


Devoid of Spark

by eversingingleaves



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: F/M, prompt fills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-24
Updated: 2012-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-16 23:42:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eversingingleaves/pseuds/eversingingleaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anon prompt as follows:</p>
<p>Anonymous <b>sent:</b> Could you write about Tahorra (that's the ship name right iahsdpasjd) and make it sexy? o 3o Like a late night rendezvous at a hotel of Tahno's choosing where he invites Korra to 'duel' him then once she arrives he begins to seduce her instead...?</p>
<p>((I…I make no promises but I’ll try.))</p>
<p>This isn't a particular ship in my armada, but I tried to do it justice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devoid of Spark

The door closes with a snick, but no lock slides in place; the hotel is far too cheap for such paltry delights as locks or complimentary soap and every light is off but for a single flickering candle on the tiny suite’s table. It paints the hollows of his cheekbones with actual color rather than the pasty sallowness of his face in the sunlight- not that he goes into the sun anymore. He’s been sitting in the same spot for a week straight, and as she drops the take-out onto the table, Korra huffs at him.

“You can’t sulk forever, Tahno!” Ever tactful, ever supportive, the     Avatar places her hands on his shoulders as if to shake him out of this half-wakefulness, this quasi-life, but he just frowns back at her.

“Get UP!” Throwing one of his arms over her broad shoulders, she hauls him to his feet. Boneless, he sags against her like a soaked container from Narook’s, soiled and useless.

Disgust wars with anger in her voice as she tries to reason with him once more.

“Your life isn’t over. You’re breathing aren’t you? Aren’t you? Spirits, Tahno- if not for yourself, just- just look look me in the eyes and tell me to go away. Just once, meet my eyes if you want me to go and I will. I swear I’ll let you rot and starve in your little hidey-hole. Just look at me-“

Grey eyes devoid of spark drift up to meet those brilliant blues of the Avatar and his entire body shudders. A flicker of  _something_ passes between them and he nods once.

“Duel me.”

The command is soft, the word nearly a sigh and then she understands. If she can win this, he’ll be back- or at least this is what he’s offering. 

Tahno doesn’t think he can. But she’s been a good friend and she deserves to see just how pathetic he is.

Slinking across the room, he takes a stance so exact it’s a mockery of the waterbending masters from whom he’s studied. Korra hesitates, unsure. He beckons her with a tilt of his head, ever so slight but its enough of his old challenging self that she strikes gently. The water laps at his knees and he rocks forward but still stands.

“That all you got, Uh-vatar?” he mocks, but it lacks conviction. The comment smarts anyways, prodding the soreness of her ego and her next hit is more decisive.

He doesn’t block, doesn’t take a single move to help himself; Tahno just takes a single step forward. This is the most he’s stood in several weeks, the most he’s moved and he feels so frail he might as well be made of the flickering light thrown by the candle.

She attacks again and he side-steps it, moving closer, ever closer, until he’s only a few feet from her.

“Why are we doing this? This is-” He hushes her with the roll of his eyes, and she continues because at least he’s  _responding._ He deflects the next blow with the flick of his wrist and the water spatters the candle. He did not bendit, but the candle gutters out from the moisture anyways.

They are left in the dark, opponents facing themselves; Tahno’s ragged breathing is the only sound between the thin walls.

The scrape of his bare foot against the carpet joins his breath and then she can feel his hands questing in the darkness of the air.

“Korra-” he whispers, and it’s a broken thing, her name. She’s never heard the five letters sound so hopeless and terrified and it makes her pause as his hand finds her waist. It takes her a moment to realize he’s shaking, his fingers trembling as they trace the contour of her face before his head drops to her shoulder.

The contact shakes her from her reverie and she wraps her strong arms around him and pulls the man to her- now only a man and not a legend, not even a by-line in the newspaper.

“We’ll call it a draw, yeah?” she says awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed when witnessing the devolving of a Hero of Republic City into just a mere man.

The muffled chuckle tells her that perhaps, maybe, she might have won this round.


End file.
